


Touch

by LyingReflection



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Or not, Set somewhere middle of Season/Series 12, bit of AU, or maybe physical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyingReflection/pseuds/LyingReflection
Summary: The Doctor contemplating of... something. Herself maybe? And the Master showing up when she needs him to. They are soft together.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> My second published fic and a second of this pair as well! I have – like most of you, I imagine – my preferred pairings for each of the Doctors, and for Thirteen it’s definitely (Dhawan) Master, though I must admit Thirteen/Missy is lovely pairing as well. 
> 
> Like the first one this also fits somewhere mid series 12 and is a somewhat AU. Also, I hope that it’s not too confusing how I keep jumping between different pronouns for the doctor. In my headcanon gallifreyan is a language which doesn’t have gender pronouns (like my language where there is only one pronoun that’s used for both sexes instead of she/he) and even in English the Doctor uses the pronouns for herself – present and past – according to her chancing feelings, which means sometimes she says ‘he’ when thinking a previous body, sometimes she uses ‘she’ because she feels more connected to the past as herself from now and sometimes she uses ‘they’ because she things herself as multiple persons.

Touch

It’s always different, with every new body. Sure the basics stay the same, she is who she has always been, and it’s not like everything changes, but some things do. This body is so sensitive to telepathic messages, for one. And touch, but that might just be the two of them linked.

Touch has always been one of those that change, some bodies like it, grave it even. At least with some people. The pinstriped, fly-haired body loved to hug and hold hands with his pink-and-yellow human. Bowties was okay with touch as well, eyebrows less so, and same went to big-years and leather. The ones before that… it’s hard to remember sometimes, the ones that came before the War.

But well, does it matter? The point is, this body, it hates to be touched. Touch makes her fell so, so… It’s so hard, and uncomfortable and it makes her skin crawl and itch and- She’s so very sensitive to telepathy, that whenever someone touches her, she can feel them even when she doesn’t want to. Their feelings press against her, their thoughts echo in her mind. She’s never been particularly skilled in shielding her mind and she’s terrified on those occasions that maybe she will unintentionally let them feel _her_ in return. And she hates, hates, hates that possibility.

It all makes her feel like she wants to run somewhere where no-one can touch her, but she hates loneliness just as much as she hates touch, maybe even more so, so she’s willing to suffer the occasional touch if that’s the price she must pay for having her friends. Even when sometimes, when they’re all feeling particularly strongly about something, she can sense them even when they’re not touching, and then she just wants to shout and hide and not to feel.

Gallifreyans are touch telepaths but that doesn’t mean they are too keen on sharing their minds with others, well at least the Time Lords aren’t. And on that one thing, she’s very much like them. She doesn’t like opening up herself verbally, and the mere idea of having to do so telepathically… It’s terrifying, because opening your mind to someone else is so much more than just words. It’s feelings, and thoughts that you don’t always tell even for yourself and- well, it’s like letting them to see into your soul – to use the human expression.

She – or he, back then, not that Time Lords have ever been particularly stuck with the concept of gender – has loved people. Humans and Time Lords alike. She had a family once, after all. More than one, actually. But the one thing she has never done, even with the ones she loved, is to allow herself bond with them to the full capability of her people. Because that would mean letting them to truly _see_ her.

There are three different ways for her people to connect their minds. Well, the simple touch and conversation used between strangers and three levels of varying familiarity on top of that. The first is the most common, a basic link that when woven between two minds, allows them to connect faster, easier and always recognize one another. And feel the presence of others in their minds. It’s used to show familiarity and friendship – as far as that is a thing in their culture. Those kinds of links are what connect them to their society.

Then there is connection bond, or engagement bond. It ties two minds together more firmly than the basic link and even allows conversation without touching. But to do so, it also allows easy access to one’s mind by the other, and shared feelings when touching. It’s intimate and that is one thing Time Lords don’t do. Because what’s intimacy to people who regard marriage as political contracts and reproduce with Looms?

The last is simply referred as a marriage bond, even though it’s very uncommon nowadays between any kind of pair. Because it’s so much more than a bond between two minds, it’s leaving a part of your own mind into their mind and having part of them with you. Its thoughts and feelings shared even from distance and without a possibility to hide. Its unbreakable and forever. And when you live a dozen lifetimes, each with the possibility to last longer than many civilisations… Well, forever is a long time, because that kind of bond lasts from life to life, surviving even death. Until the very last one, which will then tear apart the mind of the surviving partner, since the part of their own mind in the other’s dies with them. It is said to be both painful and capable of driving people mad. Pairs that have been connected with marriage bond, usually go through their last death quite close to one another, because the remaining one rarely survives for long.

But very few Gallifreyans ever tie a bond like that and there has only ever been a handful of Time Lords who have done so – long, long time ago. What she knows of marriage bonds, come mostly from other species capable of forming similar bonds. Marriage bonds are strongly discouraged on Gallifrey, which, in her opinion, makes the idea of one rather appealing. She’s never been big on following anyone else’s rules. Even when the rule in this occasion is meant to protect them from all that pain and tragedy a marriage bond will eventually bring along. Because her people never look all the amazingly good things a bond like that would allow, only the negative ones.

But still, she was never too keen on forming even the basic links, though of course she did have some. She was different enough, even back then, to stand out among them. There was no need to call more attention to herself – himself? – by refusing to connect. She/he/they have always hated to share their mind, even with themselves on the occasion that had happened. Like they are afraid of what they could find if they do so.

River, their wife – because she was married to so many of her – was telepathic. He knew it, but they never talked about it. Her shields were always present, always so high. _Spoilers!_ And even at the end, they weren’t good at breaking the habits formed during centuries of marriage. And River had known that he was hiding something from her. The library. Well, hadn’t he been keeping that from her since the beginning? One last spoiler, the kind no one should have to live with, ever.

Because of that, they had never even attempted to connect their minds. Too much foreknowledge, too many things they couldn’t ever just tell, to share. And he had always known how it would end. There was never even a possibility for a marriage bond with her, and now, she’s not even sure they would have been able to do more than the basic link, with how their timelines went to opposite directions. Anything more personal than that, and it would have been just one more big spoiler to ad to a pile of them.

This is why she finds it so much easier to love humans, she things. They aren’t telepathic in the least, there has never been any reason to even consider a form of sharing herself, more deeper than with words spoken aloud. Not that she has ever been too good with those, either. This body keeps so many secrets now. She knows it’s frustrating for her companions. They don’t necessarily come and tell her that, but they have been shoving their displeasure more openly lately. But she knew it even before they decided not to hide it, knew it because sometimes their accusations push against her even when they don’t mean to let her know.

They have cornered her a few times now. Asking questions, growing bolder with them, more annoyed from being left in the dark. She has managed to avoid giving real answers, but she knows she can’t do it forever. Yaz, especially, won’t take no for an answer for much longer. But how can she give them answers, when they might as well leave her as soon as they hear all that she’s been keeping from them? She’s far from the person she has fooled them to believe she is – the happy, optimistic traveller among stars who just wants to help everyone. There are so many names for her out there, the Oncoming Storm, the Doctor of War, the Destroyer of Worlds, the Lonely God. So much blood on her hands, so much destruction in her wake. So many people lost. Strangers and people who could have become friends and people who were friends. How many companions in row has she lost now?

Since the War, only Mickey and Martha have made it home in mostly one piece. Donna made it too, but she can never remember, and Jack is only ever around because he doesn’t stay dead. Grace died too. Her newest friends knew from the beginning that following her means danger. But she things that they didn’t still fully realize just how dangerous it can be around her, until much later. And now they demand answers. But she too has questions. So many questions. So how she can give answers, when she herself is still searching for them, and the sky-grey hem of her coat is threatening to forever be stained with the red dust of a destroyed planet and the lighting in her TARDIS is more blue than golden nowadays.

Today, she managed to only just escape the new assault of questions. They cornered her in the console room and Yaz grabbed her arm. Even through her coat and long-sleeved shirt the touch was too much. She was too _close_. And too determined to get answers.

She had frozen and stumbled away. That had distracted them, especially as she had then tripped over her own feet and only just stayed upright because she fell against the console. Her friends had forgotten their questions in order to make sure she was okay and demanding to know if she had injured herself in any way to explain the weird behaviour in the first place. She had assumed them that she was fine and then, since it was rather late, shooed them off to bed. They had gone, reluctantly.

Still, she was afraid to remain in the console room afterwards, fearing that one of them might just wander in during the night. Normally that didn’t matter, she was always happy to have them in her company, if they had trouble sleeping. But right now, she was tired too. And the day had been long.

They had helped to overturn a dictator of a small planet and freed dozens of political prisoners on the way. And while that is the kind of thing, she loves to do most, they had to walk a long stretches of space underground in rather narrow tunnels with those prisoners, where she just couldn’t avoid touching people. And later, in the palace during the celebrations of the newly freed people, everyone had wanted to thank her and had been patting her on her shoulders and trying to hug her and shake her hand. She had been so thankful to escape back to her TARDIS, only to be cornered by her friends.

She sighs, feeling wearier than she was even aware, before she let herself acknowledge that just maybe, it is a time for her to get some rest too. She pats the console fondly and makes her way to her own bedroom, feeling the TARDIS’s satisfied hum in her head. The ship has been hinting for the last few days that her pilot does actually require sleep, no matter what she herself likes to pretend. And she needs to sleep soon.

She pauses just inside the doorway, taking in the surroundings of a room she uses too seldomly, even though the room is lovely as can be. It chances with her, like all of the TARDIS does, to fit with her new personality, even while some things always remain the same and she is clad of that. For one, the main theme of her room is always blue and gold with hints of purple. The shelves – dark, mahogany colour this time – hold in them both books and pictures and various mementos from her life and her bigger on the inside wardrobe still has a mix of her current and past clothes in it. The TARDIS never puts her old clothes in the wardrobe room, preferring to keep them where the companions wont stumble upon them.

The room itself is octagonal in shape, with the ceiling being a dome of glass that shows the deep space outside the TARDIS. Her round nest hangs in mid-air underneath it, with fairy lights climbing up all four of the ropes that connect at the middle, to support the sheer, white curtain that forms a kind of see-through roof over her nest. The lights and the curtain ate new additions for this body, and she loves them both, loves the familiar room, and yet she stills avoids it. Because in here, she’s supposed to rest and she doesn’t like resting and she’s always – well most of the time – alone and surrounded by the memories of lives and people past that she can never make herself hide no matter how sad they make her every time she sees them.

The TARDIS hums encouragingly and with a sight she lets the door close behind her and starts to strip. Her clothes are pretty much left where they land, although she knows that by the time she’s standing under the warm water of the shower, Old girl will have moved them to their proper places. Maybe. Well, she will find out when she either trips over something left lying around or she doesn’t.

Short while later she’s done and not bothering to dry her hair, she only slips the dark blue, short-sleeved nightshirt with her customary rainbow across the chest over her head and then pauses. The shower helped, but she can still feel the phantom touches of other people on her skin. And there is only one sure way that she knows that gets them to stop. She glances at her coat that hangs haphazardly over her desk chair.

She really shouldn’t… But even so, he will never complain if she does. And she knows he will come, if she just asks. In the end, she gives in and does retrieve her phone from her pocked. Or well, her other phone. Not the flip one she uses with her friends, but the other that allows for all kinds of nice emojis and pictures send while texting.

_Can you come?_

She doesn’t need any elaborated explanation, no explanation at all actually, and no lies. With him, she only ever needs to ask. And as hard as that is for her sometimes, she’s also glad that she has that. She has someone who is always willing to come, without her needing to have any excuse whatsoever.

She lets the TARDIS know not to be difficult and climbs up to her nest, curling against its fluffy pillows and tugging the light blanked over herself. She is pretty sure she won’t be able to sleep yet. She has always struggled with that, even as a child, preferring to stretch the time her people can stay awake to its limits.

She wakes to the gentle swinging of her nest. Bleary eyed she watches as a shadowy figure climbs over the edge and then his body is sliding next to hers. She tries to say his name, but it comes out as more of a mumble than anything intelligent.

“Hush, love,” he murmurs soothingly and then curls around her, her own body moving without conscious thought to settle against his, until they are both curled together comfortably, their foreheads pressing against one another.

She closes her eyes, feeling her body relax like it hasn’t in too long. And all the unwanted, unfamiliar touches vanish in the presence of his body pressed against hers. His touch painting over all the others, the only one she ever needs nor wants.

 _‘Hi_ ,’ she thinks.

 _‘Hi yourself. Did something happen or did you just miss me?’_ The gentle teasing note of his mental voice is soothing. She smiles.

 _‘You wish.’_ He chuckles, knowing it’s a lie as well as she does. He can _feel_ it even when she doesn’t admit it. Like she never doesn’t miss him. _‘Just a long day. And too many people.’_ She admits but doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t ask. But then again, she did send him a selfie earlier of her wearing the dictator king’s crown, knowing fully what that picture would do to him once Ryan had placed the crown on her head as a joke.

_‘You should sleep.’_

_‘Are you going to join me?’_ She’s not going to beg, but she also doesn’t bother to pretend and hide her desire for it. He’s wearing pyjamas as well – a pair that came from that one drawer in her wardrobe set aside for him – but she doesn’t want to assume.

He hums. _‘Yes. Been some time since I last slept.’_

She smiles sleepily. _‘I like having you here while I sleep.’_ She wasn’t planning to say that, but doesn’t really regret it either, once its out. She feels him sift a little, and then there’s a soft brush of lips against her own.

_‘I know.’_

Neither mentions how they rarely sleep well, too many nightmares born from their pasts. And how the truly restful sleep seems to come only when they are curled together like this, their minds tangled together so tightly that it’s hard to say where one begins and the other ends. Or maybe they are whole like this, and there truly is no beginning and no end. Four hearts, two bodies, one mind.

How could she ever bond her mind to anyone else, when she has him? She has her pilot’s bond with her TARDIS to keep her sane with all the other Time Lords absent from her mind. Not that she needs any of them really, not as long as he’s here. She hasn’t needed the others since her school days and that more than little illegal and frankly quite dangerous forming of a link that the children they had been, shouldn’t had had any place to form. But he’s always had the knack for telepathy and she who struggles with it, connected to him as easily as she had taken his hand that very first time they met and her mind had slipped to his like the fingers of their hands threaded together. And after that, they have never truly let go.

He hums, and his mind settles more fully against hers. It feels like home, he feels like home and she sighs contentedly.

In the morning – not that there ever really is mornings in the TARDIS – she might just remind him of the picture she sent him earlier, she things drowsily. Because she knows she’ll enjoy the results, if she does. And afterwards they will sneak him out of her TARDIS, her fam none the wiser of him ever having been in. Or maybe they should just go to the galley like it was nothing, to fix breakfast together. It would be a sight to see the fam’s faces when they would discover the other Time Lord aboard her TARDIS.

 _‘Stop thinking. I’m tired,’_ he grumbles.

 _‘Sorry.’_ And then, since the words are somewhat difficult to say, even in the privacy of their own minds, she sends the feeling of them to him. She feels his sleepy delight and then he returns the gesture. Basking in the light of feelings they keep as a secret in their hearts, even from themselves, she finally lets herself slide to dreams, knowing he will be right the by her side.

They fall asleep like that, together.

**Author's Note:**

> I re-watched series 11 after writing most of this and noticed that the doctor actually does touch people in it at which point I then had to contemplate whether I should change this, but then I decided that oh well, I already wrote it, I’m not re-writing it now. So now she kind of just forgets that about herself in the aftermath of the Spyfall and the differences that makes in her in series 12…


End file.
